TRICK OR THREAT

A Belchester Chroniclette

Andrea Frazer

The Rev. Goodfellow pays a visit to Lady Amanda Golightly at Belchester Towers, upset by the trick-or-treat antics of some local youths who are apparently using this innocent Hallowe’en pastime as a means of extracting money with menaces.

Incensed at this bullying of vulnerable local residents, including one of her own circle, Lady Amanda, aided by her faithful friend Hugo Cholmondley-Crichton-Crump, girds her loins and prepares to bring the perpetrators to justice.

NB: This story is set between Strangeways to

Oldham and White Christmas with a Wobbly Knee

I

‘I would so appreciate some help, Lady Amanda. These elderly parishioners of mine feel terribly threatened, and don’t even dare leave their homes to do their little bits of shopping in case something happens to their homes.

‘One of them has had the whole front of her house pelted with rotten eggs, another has had the word “bitch” sprayed across her front wall, and yet another has come home to find all the winter pansies in her little front flower bed uprooted and stamped into the lawn. They live in fear of a return of these young bullies.’

‘I thought trick-or-treating was a fairly innocent pastime, Vicar. Doesn’t one just keep a bowl of sweeties by the door to offer out when any of these little tots come around in their costumes? That’s what Beauchamp usually does and sometimes he even dresses up to surprise them when they answer the door,’ said Lady Amanda Golightly of Belchester Towers in reference to her butler-cum-general factotum.

‘That’s all very well, but these aren’t ordinary trick-or-treaters. They are at least sixteen years old, and what they’re after is hard cash to buy cigarettes or alcohol. They’re effectively demanding money with menaces, and I simply don’t know what to do to protect my dear elderly parishioners,’ replied Rev. Christian Goodfellow.

He was the vicar responsible for all three small Anglican churches in Belchester: namely, St Michael-in-the-Fields on The Butts, St Marks on Summerfield Road, and St Paul’s in Church Street, and sometimes he wished he had a C of E helicopter to get him to all his Sunday services on time, without the endless Sabbath race that he ran every week against the clock. The only other clerics in Belchester were attached to the cathedral, and had a comparatively easy life compared with his.

‘But can they not be described and identified, and the police informed?’ asked Lady Amanda in her firmest, ‘let’s not get this thing out of all proportion’ voice.

‘I’m afraid not, as they wear masks – as is, I believe, traditional for this activity – and completely disguise their identities. They even use hoarse, threatening voices to intimidate the poor old dears.’

‘Have you informed the police of this?’ For one ghastly moment, a vision of Inspector Moody rose in her mind, only to be completely dismissed by the vicar’s next comment.

‘I’m afraid the police are totally uninterested in our problem.’

With a sneer of triumph, Lady A trumpeted, ‘Then we shall have to apply the principles of private detection to this problem.’

‘Are you able to do that, Lady Amanda? Have you ever done anything like this before?’

‘I have indeed, Rev. Goodfellow, and I have a staff of three to aid me on this mission. The only thing I shall need are some names and addresses, so that I can speak to some of those thus intimidated, to get a little data before I decide how to proceed.’

‘What a Christian woman you are, and I thank God for your presence in my congregation – or one of them, at least,’ the vicar finished, rather lamely.

‘Just let me get a writing pad and pen, and we can get going – oh, hello Hugo. Are you going to join us?’

‘For tea? Yes, please,’ replied the venerable man who had just hobbled in on two walking sticks, seating himself slowly and carefully in a feather-cushioned armchair. ‘Why are you here, Vicar, if you don’t think me impertinent?’

‘I’m visiting to see if Lady Amanda can help me with a little parish problem,’ he answered, without giving anything away.

‘It’s a new mystery, Hugo,’ Lady A almost crowed, ‘but without the murder this time.’

‘Oh, I say. How exciting. Tell me all.’ Hugo was all ears. They had been involved in one case before which did involve murder, but it had, for Hugo, happily begun with Lady Amanda rescuing him from the Birdlings Serenade Rest Home, where he had been, basically, just waiting to die.

She had brought him to Belchester Towers to live and got him a proper doctor, who was slowly dealing with his ageing, problem joints and giving him more effective medication, so that he wasn’t bedridden any more – and he did so enjoy his new life, especially the detecting he had done with his old friend Manda.

‘Well,’ began Lady Amanda, ‘it would appear that a gang of not very young youths has been going round terrorising older people, pretending they’re trick-or-treating, then demanding money with menaces, or else they’ll do something really horrible to the resident’s house. The old people are afraid to go out in case the scoundrels come back and do something worse.

‘The gang members are about sixteen years old and the vicar reckons they want the money for booze and fags. The police – curse old Moody’s socks – don’t want to know, so it’s going to be down to the Belchester Towers Specials to solve this one.’

‘Who?’

‘You, me, Beauchamp, and Enid – when she finally gets here. She’s late. She should have been coming for tea, but, no doubt, her mother has invented some last-minute fictional crisis to delay her.’

She was interrupted in her flow by a frantic pulling on the front door bell-pull, and after the quiet tones of Beauchamp’s voice greeting the newcomer, Enid came flying into the drawing room, her hair out of its usual pins and flying all over the place.

‘Whatever is it, Enid? What’s happened?’ asked Lady Amanda, as Enid sank down into a sofa and Beauchamp stood immaculately and unmoving just inside the door.

‘I’ve been trying to clean the paint off the windows,’ she explained breathlessly. ‘I’ve cycled here as quickly as I could, but we had some trouble last night, and I didn’t realise it until this morning. Since then, I’ve just been scrubbing and scrubbing, and I think I’ve just about removed the letters.’

‘What letters? Where? Start from the beginning, Enid?’

Enid Tweedie took a deep breath, and began her story as calmly as she could. ‘About eight thirty last night, there was a knock at the door, and when I went to answer it, there were these lads in Hallowe’en masks, about six feet tall, some of them, chanting, ‘Trick or Treat’. I got the bowl of treats, as I had for the other, younger children that had been round, but they said it would cost me twenty quid to get rid of them.

‘Well, my old mother had tottered out, by that time, and she gave them what for, telling them to, if you’ll pardon my language, “bugger off” or she’d call the police and have them arrested. They seemed to go away at that point, but when I went out to greet the postman this morning, somebody had sprayed “S-H-one-T” and “B-U-M” on our front door in paint which, of course, by then was dry, and it’s taken me all day, so far, to get rid of the shapes of the letters.

‘Mother was apoplectic with rage when she saw what they must have come back to do, so I phoned the police station, but they just brushed it off as high spirits. Nobody would take me seriously.’

‘Poor Enid,’ said Lady A. ‘That was criminal damage they were ignoring. I’ll make sure someone comes round and repaints your front door after Hallowe’en. No point in doing it before, otherwise they might come back and do it again.’

‘Not if we investigate, Manda,’ interjected Hugo, his face shining with excitement.

‘Now, Vicar,’ she continued, turning to face Rev. Goodfellow, ‘if you’ll just give me some names and addresses, I can go and personally get accounts of what happened at some of the other houses. Enid, you sit there and think if there was anything unusual or memorable about any of those young thugs.’

‘Old Ma Baldwin,’ he said, then apologised for not knowing her given name. ‘She’s not a churchgoer, or at least, only if its harvest festival, and there’s something in it for her. She lives at 13 Scraggs Lane; on her own, so she was very frightened. She hasn’t even got a telephone, so she had to trudge all the way up to the vicarage, and she has terrible trouble with her feet, poor old woman.’

Lady Amanda made a note, then looked at her parish priest, inviting him, with a nod, to continue. ‘Irish Vince and his wife – again, I don’t know their full names. I think they’re C of E, but they could be C of I, or even Roman, but they live at number two, Beggars Run. Then there’s Sheila Shilling of fifteen Rag-a-Bone Lane, Peter and Percy Smudge of fourteen Lumpen Lane, and finally Betty Bunn of twenty-one Twixt-the-Ways, who threatened to run after them and tan their hides for them, big as they are. She’s a large woman – I don’t know if you know her at all, but she frightens me to death,’ replied Rev. Goodfellow, thinking that so did his present hostess.

‘Thank you very much, Vicar. We shall do our best to stop this cruel practice, and bring the culprits to justice by consulting with the police once we have our evidence for the case,’ Lady Amanda assured him.

‘I knew the gentry wouldn’t let me down,’ sighed Rev. Goodfellow, with relief. ‘I’ll leave it in your more than capable hands, then.’

As the vicar cycled off down the drive, whistling, and occasionally skidding on the gravel, Hugo turned to his old friend and asked, ‘So, where are we going to start?’

‘I suppose, with a detailed verbal statement by Enid, which Beauchamp can take down as he is thoroughly competent in shorthand, then he can type it up and print it from the computer. You and I, Hugo, are going to consult a street map of Belchester and decide on the best route to tackle these addresses, then I’ll decide whether we’ll take the Rolls or our tricycles.

At the mention of the latter, Hugo’s previously beaming face fell, and he hoped against hope that she would choose to go by car. His tricycle may have a little motor to aid forward movement, but he was always driving into obstacles, and couldn’t seem to get the hang of the steering. Once it had even – he would swear – reared up and thrown him over the handlebars.

Once they had their route planned, it taking them to three of the small city’s quarters, she read it out loud to Beauchamp, and asked his opinion as to their best recommended mode of transport. ‘We’ve got to go to Scraggs Lane then Twixt-the-Ways in the north-western quarter, then to Lumpen Lane and Rag-a-Bone Road in the south-western quarter, then to Beggars Run in the south- eastern quarter.

‘Might I suggest that it would be more efficient if I went out in the old Austin Seven, considering the state of the roads, with an invitation on the back of one of your calling cards, inviting them to tea here tomorrow afternoon?’

‘That’s a wonderful idea, Beauchamp, but you’ll never get them all in that little car,’ replied Lady Amanda, chiding his over-enthusiasm.

‘I wasn’t intending to, m’lady. I was going to bring them in for two different sittings: one at three fifteen, then take them back to collect the second sitting for four fifteen. You don’t have to eat too much, merely question them and make notes.’

‘Genius man,’ sighed his employer, and Hugo nodded joyfully at the thought that he wouldn’t have to go adventuring on his motorised tricycle, which he was convinced currently was possessed by the devil.

At that juncture, the telephone rang, and Beauchamp called his employer to the instrument to speak to one of her old friends, then disappeared up to the higher reaches of the house in search of something.

The call was from Angelica Featherstonehaugh-Armitage – pronounced Fanshaw-Armitage – aka Stinky. Her husband, Aloysius, had the unenviable nickname of Donkey.

‘Manda, the most ghastly thing has happened. A group of absolute ruffians has been to the house and demanded money or they’ll break all the windows. They were wearing masks, so we don’t know who the hell they were, but Donkey gave them fifty quid just to get rid of them.’

‘But, didn’t Donkey see them off? I believe he was once in the army,’ parried Lady Amanda.

‘Catering Corps, Amanda. He could have coped with custard pies at dawn, but not fisticuffs, and other physical forms of fighting. What shall we do? I mean, they didn’t break our windows, but there’s nothing to stop them coming back and demanding more money. It’s blackmail, and I don’t want to cause a scandal, but you know how tight actual cash can be.’ Stinky was in a real funk.

‘Don’t you worry about it at all. We’ll come over and take a statement …’

‘We?’

‘Hugo and I will come over – you know we can solve mysteries – take a statement, then put it with all the statements were going to take tomorrow from other victims of this scam, and then, hopefully, Bob, as they say, will be your uncle.’

‘What statements are you going to take tomorrow?’ asked Stinky, now confused.

‘Why, the statements from the other people they’ve tried this on with, the names and addresses of whom the dear old vicar has just informed us.’

‘So, we’re not the only ones?’

‘Not by a long chalk. May I suggest that you warn your local friends not to open their front doors after dark, or allow the servants to, either? It’ll take a while to round up these ruthless thugs and remove them from the scene. You’re the first one of any breeding who has been visited, but I’d like to bet that you won’t be the last.’

‘I don’t think I can forbid friends to stop their staff answering the door but I’ll tell them what to expect, and we’ll leave the mopping up to you.’

‘Good girl, Stinky. We’ll be over later.’

As she put down the telephone, Beauchamp came bounding down the stairs with a very smug grin on his face. ‘Look what I’ve found upstairs. It’s my old miniature tape-recorder. We could use that for the interviews tomorrow, so we don’t have to interrupt the victims while they’re in full flow.’

‘What a marvel you are, Beauchamp. Now, could you get the tricycles out, please? Hugo and I are going to pay a call on good old Stinky and Donkey.’

‘What?’ asked Hugo, in horror, as he exited the drawing room door and heard what was expected of him. He may be more mobile than he had been, but he still found the tricycle difficult and recalcitrant, and he was, also, rather tubby.

II

‘Hugo!’ shouted Lady Amanda. They had only been on their tricycles for a couple of minutes, and Hugo’s was already playing up. ‘What are you doing playing in the rhododendrons?’ she called. ‘I don’t know, ask the man to ride down a perfectly easy drive, and he goes straight into the shrubbery to play.’

‘I’m not playing, Manda. These bushes seem to have eaten me,’ he shouted back.

‘Well, why did you ride into them in the first place?’

‘I didn’t. It was the trike wanted to go into the blasted things.’

‘Balderdash! Stuff and nonsense! All you have to do is keep the handlebars pointing straight ahead,’ she added, dismounting and coming across to pull him free of the evergreen embrace of the shrubs that lined the drive.

‘There you are, silly,’ she chided him gently, pulling stray sprigs of plant out of his wheel spokes and brake cables. ‘Now, a gentle curve, and we’re out on to the road, and it’s not far to Stinky and Donkey’s place.’

Lady A remounted her non-motor-assisted tricycle and began to pedal off. Hugo restarted his tiny engine, which had stalled during its visit to the rhododendron bushes, and began to pedal as it spluttered into life. Lady Amanda looked over her shoulder as she heard him, then screeched, ‘No, Hugo, not into the little pond! I told you to do a gentle curve.’

There was a splash, and Hugo remained seated on his vehicle, now stalled again, his pedals just below the waterline. ‘I couldn’t turn them,’ he explained, then bowed his head as his friend came over and turned them easily, even though the front wheel was in the water.

‘Well, at least the motor’s under the saddle, and hasn’t got wet. Get off that thing and let me pull it out. You are a clumsy, Hugo. No one else I know could have done that.’

‘May I go and change my shoes and socks?’

‘No, you can get them dried out at Stinky’s. Now get back on and start to engage your brain, old thing, or we’ll never get there before nightfall.’

Hugo was all right for a while, as the road was, indeed, very straight, having been built originally by the Romans. It was only as they got to the gates of Stinky and Donkey’s that he began to have trouble. The route had been all downhill, and he had achieved quite a speed. At his fellow tricyclist’s loud instruction of, ‘Turn right’, he had turned the handlebars to the right, then had completely forgotten to correct his steering to straighten up. He went, instead of straight towards the house, whizzing off on a back-path that led to the door of the servants’ quarters, yelling his head off all the way.

There was a terrific crash, and two screams, one high-pitched, the other rather lower, and Lady A turned her steed towards the sound of what was obviously an accident.

When she came across the scene, it was a most incongruous sight. The tricycle was standing to one side, triumphant, somehow, in its lonely status. On the ground was the figure of Mrs Mint the cook, with Hugo astride her body, to all the world as if he were attempting to ravish her. Mrs Mint’s voice was raised, shouting, ‘Get him orf of me!’ while Hugo puffed like a grampus and yelled,

‘Will somebody please remove me from this woman! She is attempting to destroy my virtue.’

Lady Amanda eventually sorted out the various arms and legs, and helped Mrs Mint back indoors for a restorative cup of tea, as Stinky and Donkey came out of another side door and asked what all the noise was about.

‘Damned beast threw me!’ exclaimed Hugo, ‘and I landed on this woman who must work for you. Manda, you’ll have to get that trike either doctored or put the beast down. It’s absolutely wild.’

‘It’s not like a horse, Hugo. It can only have had you over the handlebars if you pulled on the wrong brake and it stopped abruptly, whereas you didn’t.’

A voice from inside the servants’ quarters’ door cried out in anguish. ‘Had me over the handle bars, that’s what he nearly did, over-sexed old man.’

Hugo was so incensed that he replied to this with, ‘I am not. It was my tricycle that catapulted me over its handlebars, and I just happened to land on you. Pure bad luck – for both of us!’

‘You tried to ’ave your wicked way with me when you waylaid me on the garden path,’ Mrs Mint retorted.

‘Madam, I am a virgin!’ bellowed Hugo then, realising what he had just disclosed, looked for somewhere to hide his embarrassment.

There was a short silence from inside, then the voice called out again, ‘And what’s a man of your mature years doing riding a tricycle in the first place?’

‘I shall not dignify that with a reply,’ stated Hugo, and dusted himself down. ‘Good afternoon, er, Stinky; good afternoon, um, Donkey,’ then he blushed. Such ridiculous nicknames were out of his ken. He was also not part of Lady Amanda’s intimate circle of friends, and found himself rather at a loss.

‘Come on inside, and we’ll have an early cocktail while we tell you about what happened when poor old Donkey was rooked out of that fifty-quid note.’

The interior of the house was as sumptuous as Belchester Towers, simply dripping with antiques, and Stinky explained that Donkey was an antiques dealer who often kept a large part of his stock at home, where it was safer than in their business establishment. She could not bring herself to use the word ‘shop’ with its connotations of money made from ‘trade’.

‘You are such a snob, Stinky. Why don’t you just say that Donkey’s got an antiques shop?’

Going rather pink around the ears, Stinky ignored this cutting remark and said, ‘Shall I ring for cocktails? What would you like? No, let’s let Lardon surprise us. He’s French, you know.’

Lardon? Lady A had to put her finger in her mouth and bite down hard on it to stop herself from laughing, as Stinky rang a tinkly little silver bell.

Almost immediately, a man with slicked-down dark hair and flashing brown eyes appeared, dressed impeccably. ‘Yes, Madame,’ he intoned, and Lady A thought, if he’s French, then Beauchamp’s a Chinaman. But she wouldn’t burst Stinky’s bubble.

‘Can you produce three surprise cocktails for us please, all different, and all sort of, fitting, if you know what I mean, and the master’s usual whisky and soda’

‘Weez plezzure, Madame,’ he replied, looking at Lady A with a wary eye. He had a horrible suspicion that she had sussed him out.

When he came back about six or seven minutes later, he had four glasses on a tray, and began to hand them around. ‘Thees eez for you, Milady – a Zombie; and you, sir, are a Hairy Navel.’ Hugo began to splutter in indignation until Lady A quelled him with one of her looks and said, ‘It’s just the name of your cocktail. Take it.’

‘And thees one should amuse Madame – a Cute Fat Bastard in ze Sack,’ and he had the temerity to wink at Stinky, receiving a mischievous smile in return, and Lady A hoped her old friend wasn’t having her head turned by the fake Frenchman.

When Lardon had shut the door behind him, Lady A checked it to see that it was, indeed, firmly closed, and then said, ‘He’s no more French than Hugo, Stinky, and it looks like he’s got his eye on you.’

As she began to bluster and splutter, Donkey said unexpectedly, ‘He can have her if it stops him resigning. Where did he get that damned silly name from?’

‘Probably from a packet of the same, in the supermarket,’ replied Lady A, who did indeed know what the inside of the local supermarket looked like, and occasionally liked to browse there. There were so many unexpected things to be found, like quails’ eggs and some rather acceptable champagne, as well as little tins and jars of caviar.

‘Now, down to business. Tell me about last night, Donkey,’ said the Zombie.

‘Oh, it was awful,’ wailed Stinky. ‘Thyme – that’s our parlour-maid – went to the door: Lardon won’t lower himself; says his English is not good enough…’

‘Let Donkey tell it. He might be more coherent,’ advised Lady A, again having a secret smile. His French accent must be very unsteady if he can’t cope with the door, because she was sure she’d heard just a tiny Liverpudlian vowel when he’d spoken earlier.

‘Hrmph,’ Donkey cleared his throat and began his version of what had happened the previous evening. ‘Thyme answered the door and found some young fellow there saying he wanted a quick word with the mistress. She, not knowing any better, went and got old Stinky here, and by the time she got to the door, there were five of them, and they were all wearing masks. Threatened to do the most awful stuff if we didn’t pay them off. Said it was trick or treating, but I’ve never seen it with menaces before.

‘Well, Stinky went and fetched me, and by then they were really standing in a menacing group. I took out my wallet, and one of the little blighters caught hold of a fifty pound note and whisked it out, then they all ran off laughing. I spoke to the police station, but was told that I should be more careful with callers at the door, and get everyone to use a safety chain. I ask you, what sort of fool would I look if my door was answered by someone across a piddling little safety chain, eh?’

‘Really, Donkey, if your butler won’t answer the door, then you will have to ask a footman to do it. You really can’t risk your maids doing it, not with who’s around in this day and age and with a place like this, just stuffed to the gills with precious antiques. I hope you’ve got an alarm fitted.’

‘No,’ Donkey replied shamefacedly, then promised to put it at the top of his list – which was probably extant only in his imagination.

‘And I hope your insurance is up to date,’ added Lady A, whereupon Donkey blushed again, and took a small sliver of paper and a tiny pencil out of a pocket and made all the actions of taking an urgent note to himself.

To disperse his embarrassment, he added, ‘Stinky says that we’re not the only ones who’ve been called on by this collection of young thugs.’

‘That’s right, Donkey. We’ve got representatives of five other Belchester households coming round tomorrow to tell us about their incidents, but you’re the first posh one of which we’ve heard.’ She added this last to bolster up his dented self-esteem over the fifty pounds, his reluctant butler, and everything else that had happened since they’d arrived.

‘Please do pass on our apologies to Mrs Mint about the collision earlier, and assure her that Hugo has no ambitions or even inclinations in that direction whatsoever.’ As she stood, she put her hand to her head and exclaimed, ‘Oh, my head’s fair going round. Whatever did Lardon put in that Zombie?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea, Manda,’ replied Stinky. ‘He never tells us what’s in his cocktails.’ Another mark against the man, as far as Lady A was concerned, and she determined to dig the information out of Beauchamp as soon as they got back to Belchester Towers.

Both of the visitors fair tottered down the steps to their tricycles, the alcohol affecting their riding in quite opposite ways. Hugo rode, as free as a three-wheeled bird, back up the hill and up to the door of Belchester Towers. Lady Amanda, on the other hand, got the giggles, and twice had to swerve to avoid being squashed into roadkill, the first time by a juggernaut that was labouring its way out of the city, and the second time by a furniture lorry, on its way into the city to deposit its cargo of furniture.

Whereas she vowed never to drink and ride again, Hugo decided that a bit of Dutch courage definitely aided both his ability to steer and his energy to pedal, and he would certainly do the same again, should the necessity arise.

III

Enid Tweedie rode up to Belchester Towers on her ancient creaky bicycle the next day at about one o’clock, having taken a meagre early lunch with her demanding old mother, who lived with her. It had been meagre because, whatever she produced, her mother criticised it and compared it to her sister’s much superior offerings, and early, because she wanted to get away from the criticising, moaning old biddy. Lady Amanda Golightly was just as demanding, but she felt she was more appreciated at her old ‘friend’s’ house.

She left it out of sight round in the stable yard, and slipped into the servants’ entrance, as she felt was her place. Beauchamp had the ears of a bat and immediately called out a cheery greeting to her. From slightly more distant came the unmistakable bellow of dear Amanda, requesting her presence in the drawing room.

‘Ah, my dear Enid,’ the head of the household called out as Enid shuffled through the door, her usual dowdy self. ‘I wonder if you could organise afternoon tea for, say, half a dozen for three fifteen, and a second round, the same, for four fifteen?’

‘What’s happening?’ asked Enid, her tone slightly perkier than it had been in the kitchens.

‘Mystery is what’s afoot, my dear Enid. You were not the only one terrorised by this gang of thugs. I have heard of many others from the vicar, who has kindly given me some names and addresses. Even Stinky and Donkey are not immune, it seems, from these blackmailing young individuals.

‘Hugo and I were going to tricycle round to interview them, but Beauchamp has decided that he will collect them in two groups and bring them back here, where we can use his tape recorder to capture what information they can give us. If I don’t tell them the machine is running, and offer them afternoon tea up at the big house, they will talk more freely. If necessary, would you go undercover for us?’

‘Oh, yes. That would be very exciting. What do I have to do?’

‘I don’t know yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as I have an idea.’ In fact, this never came to fruition in the current case, but just looking forward to the possibility was enough to cheer up this dour individual. ‘Now, the first sitting for tea will be for three individuals, plus Hugo and myself, the second will be for two couples, plus we two, as before.’

‘You’re going to eat two teas?’

‘Oh, I don’t think Hugo will have any trouble with that. The man seems to have hollow legs. When he gets all those joint replacements, I’m sure they’re going to find out that all he’s suffering from is a jam tart jam in his knees, and a surfeit of scones and buns in his thighs.’

Enid scuttled off to get baking and cutting dainty little sandwiches while Beauchamp got out the old Austin Seven and gave it a bit of a dust-off. He only used it when he knew he or his passenger were going somewhere where the roads were narrow and the Rolls would just get jammed.

Lady Amanda found Hugo having a snooze in the library with the Telegraph over his upper half, jolted him awake unnecessarily abruptly, and told him to get his wits together for their afternoon of statement-gathering.

At five past three the crunching on the gravel drive announced that Beauchamp was back with his cargo of intimidated old people, and the chatter of excited voices at this unusual treat at the big house filled the hall, the small crowd of noise stopping as her butler-cum-general factotum took their coats.

After a couple for minutes, he ushered them into the large drawing room with a suitably dignified air. His introduction of them was as impeccable as that at a coming-out ball, and he announced in a strong voice. ‘May I introduce you all to the Lady Amanda Golightly and Mr Hugo Cholmondley-Crichton-Crump.

‘Sir, m’lady, may I present to you Mrs Rita Baldwin, currently residing at number 13 Scraggs Lane; Mrs Sheila Shilling, currently residing at number 15 Rag-a-Bone Lane; and Mrs Betty Bunn, currently residing at number 21 Twixt-the-Ways, all in the city of Belchester.

‘Ladies, pray be seated so that afternoon tea may be served, then you may make your statements to Lady Amanda.’

There was a quiet murmur of voices as they sorted out the order on which they would perch on the very edge of the chesterfields, then all was silent, all eyes on Lady A and Hugo, who was doing his best to look interested and not over-excited. The former reached down to the floor beside her seat and discreetly activated the tape recorder, which Beauchamp had left ready for her to switch on.

‘Mrs Baldwin, may we have your statement first. Just tell us what happened when you had that group of unpleasant youths call on you,’ she enquired of a hugely fat woman with ankles so swollen they looked like they had been borrowed from an elephant, and whose hair was a very unlikely orange colour, escaping from its pins wherever it found opportunity.

‘Well, it were three or four days ago – too early, to my mind, to start goin’ about this activity – and I were bringin’ in me washing as it were already dark, and the frost had frozen it solid. Had to do karate on me knickers, so I did. Then, when I had me mouth full of pegs, I heard this almighty rumpus at the front door and went out to see what on earth were goin’ on.

‘There were four or five tall young men out there, all a-wearing them rubber masks, and they were askin’ me if I preferred a trick or a treat. Well, I don’t hold with all this American rubbish at Hallowe’en, so I told ’em to get lorst. The one who seemed to be their leader said it would be the worse for me if I didn’t give them some money for all the trouble they’d taken to get dressed up, and I told ’em to sling their ’ooks, if they knew what was good for them.’

The obese woman stopped for a few seconds, and Lady A had to prompt her to go on. With her face a mask of misery, this mountain of a woman finished her story. ‘They rushed me, they did, Your Ladyship, and they dragged all my clean bed linen into the mud, all me drawers and me stays and petticoats, and trampled them in. They ’ad a bit of a bother because it was frosty, but they managed to get me things all filthy, so that I would have to wash ’em again, and I ’as to do everything by ’and, seein’ as I’ve ’ad me washin’ machine repossessed. Then they started peltin’ me cottage wiv rotten eggs.’

‘That’s disgraceful behaviour, Mrs Baldwin,’ Hugo cut in. ‘What little savages. They must be stopped.’

‘Did you notice if they went to any of your neighbours’ properties, Mrs Baldwin?’ asked Lady A.

‘Not at all. It seemed like it was personal, like. They just left my gate open so that my poor little doggie could get out, then marched down the road laughing like they’d been told the best joke in the world, and me left with the ground covered in me good washing that were so clean a few minutes before.’

‘Thank you very much, Mrs Baldwin. Mrs Shilling, will you go next, please?’ Lady A felt rather like Mrs Dilber, when Scrooge’s possessions were being apportioned. It was something to do with the washing part of Mrs Baldwin’s story that brought the scene to mind.

Mrs Shilling was, in contrast, like a piece of chewed string that had inadvertently covered itself with a sheath of printed polyester and more or less assumed human form. She made a great fuss of clearing her throat to her own satisfaction then began in a surprisingly deep voice, ‘I was doing the washing up when I heard a brusque knock at the front door, around which I always have roses. Some people don’t care how the outside of their property looks, but I’ve got standards.

‘Anyway, they told me, basically, to pay up or something nasty would happen. Now, I don’t mind little children doing this sort of thing, I always keep a bowl of sweeties ready to hand out, but this was totally out of order. I told them I would do no such thing, and – they all had gloves on, by the way; black leather or plastic ones – and they grabbed the bottom of the rose plant at each side of the door, broke it off, and then tore down the plants, trellis an’ all.’ Again, Lady A thought of words from that distressing scene in a Christmas Carol – ‘curtain rings and all’.

‘Then they put the whole kit and caboodle on to my lawn and stamped all over it, breaking the quite delicate slats of the trellis, so that I shouldn’t be able to put it up again when they’d gone. And they stamped on all me winter pansies, too, the little sods, beggin’ your pardon, m’lady.’

Enid came in with the tea tray at this moment, and ten minutes or so were given over to finding out who took milk, who took lemon – no one – who took sugar, and who would have cake and/or sandwiches. It seemed hardly any time at all until the teapot was drained and the cake stand and sandwich plates were emptied, as if a swarm of human locusts had descended upon them.

With an enormous sigh of disbelief, Enid took the tray and left the room again leaving Lady Amanda to encourage Mrs Bunn to tell her story for the benefit of the tape – of which she knew nothing.

Mrs Bunn’s hair was in a bun, her nose was round and squishy, her face as round as a ball, and her head resembled nothing so much as a cottage loaf. ‘I just gave them twenty quid to go away,’ she began. ‘I offered them a tenner, but they just sneered at me, then told me what they intended to do if I didn’t pay enough.’

‘And what was their threat, Mrs Cottage,’ Lady A erred, her mind filled with loaves.

‘Mrs Bunn, please, Your Ladyship.’ As Lady Amanda reddened, she continued, ‘They threatened to smash the six milk bottles I had left out on the step’ – Belchester still had an old-fashioned dairy that delivered, and some were willing to pay handsomely for this service – ‘and spread the shards all down my garden path and on the lawn. I have twelve pussy cats, all of whom are very dear to me and I couldn’t face the thought of them cutting their little pawsie-wawsies. Besides, the vet’s bills would have been enormous. It was cheap at twenty quid to get the little terrorists off my property.’

‘Did any of you contact the police?’ asked their hostess.

There was an uncomfortable silence followed by nothing. Finally, Mrs Bunn said, evidently speaking for them all, ‘We don’t like the perlice.’

‘Can any of you give us any sort of description of these young thugs?’ It was essential that Lady A had something other than statements with which to confront Inspector Moody, who wasn’t exactly her bosom buddy.

Old Ma Baldwin was the first to contribute to this enquiry. ‘There were five o’ the little buggers. Three of them were about average for height, but one was very tall, another was very short. Their faces were, of course, covered by the masks.’

Betty Bunn became animated again as she remembered one of them taking off his glove to make a phone call, when she’d noticed a tattoo on his left hand, in which he held the phone, and Lady Amanda took this to indicate that he was left-handed.

Sheila Shilling, who had been lost in contemplation, suddenly volunteered that two of them had had a playful scuffle in which one slightly dislodged the mask of the other, revealing a tiny glimpse of ginger hair.

When everything had been put into the correct order to make notes, it transpired that there were no individual details on Lanky and Shorty, but of the three that were of average height, one had a tattoo and was probably left-handed, and one of the other two had ginger hair. That wasn’t bad because this was only the first sitting for afternoon tea today, and there were two couples still to come and give their statements.

As the last of the tea was drained and the last sandwich popped into a gaping maw of a mouth, Enid came in to put everything back on to the tray to return to the kitchen to assemble the meal all over again, and Beauchamp came in to remind the ladies that he needed to get them home.

‘How kind of you, Lady Amanda, to spare a thought for our suffering and vow to search out the culprits,’ Sheila Shilling spoke for them all.

‘Noblesse oblige,’ replied that lady, waving a hand at the wrist to indicate her happiness to sort out anything that happened outside the law with which the police were not willing to tangle.

IV

Beauchamp was gone only a quarter of an hour, collecting the next set of persecuted older people, and arrived back this time with Irish Vince and his wife, Brenda, and Petra and Percy Smudge. It had seemed more logical to have the individual witnesses first, and leave the two couples until afterwards.

After that invaluable manservant had relieved them of their outer clothes, he ushered them into the drawing room and introduced them to Lady A and Hugo, who both stood up – very slowly, in Hugo’s case – and shook hands, declaring themselves delighted to meet their visitors. Lady A, as was her custom of honesty, had one hand behind her back so that they would not see her crossed fingers.

Once more, the put-upon figure of Enid Tweedie entered the room with a heavy tea tray, and deposited the contents on the tea table, which had been erected between three sofas especially for the afternoon. It usually sat against the wall in its folded-down position, everyday tea being taken by the repositioning of two much smaller tables that sat at the ends of a couple of the sofas.

Although Irish Vince claimed to have lived in Belchester for the best part of thirty years, he sounded as if he had only got off the ferry from Eire about a fortnight ago. Fortunately, his wife, evidently a local woman whom he must have met almost as soon as he arrived in the country, as her accent was much more comprehensible, did most of the talking.

Having been served with tea, and helped themselves to the comestibles, Brenda was the first to speak. ‘It was our car they went for. We’ve made a small hard-standing in our front garden, just big enough to take our old Morris 1000, and when we said we wouldn’t offer them anything but sweeties or a fairy cake, they really got cross, and started kicking our poor old girl – the car, that is.

One of them jumped on the front bumper and detached it, one of the others pulled off the windscreen wipers – cutting his hand in the process, I might add, and then someone got onto the bonnet and danced around until it was all dimpled and damaged.’

‘That’s disgraceful,’ commented Hugo. ‘When we’ve caught who’s responsible, they’re going to have a lot of damages to pay out.’

‘Oi won’t be holdin’ me breat,’, so Oi won’t,’ spake Irish Vince.

‘And what happened to you, Mr and Mrs Smidge?’ asked Lady A, trying very hard.

‘That’s Smudge, if you don’t mind,’ Percy corrected her, then Petra took up their tale. ‘We’ve got, or had, a small greenhouse to the side of our home where Perce brings along cuttings and grows things from seed. Well, the holy terrors only picked up some of the larger pieces of gravel from the garden path and smashed every window that they could reach with the stones. Perce’s plants are all either wilted or dead from the cold, now, and we’ll have to re-glaze it and start all over again. Very proud of his garden, is Perce, and now he’s devastated.’

‘It seems that you’ve all been through some very upsetting events. Now, one of the things that I need to know is whether there was any feature, however small, that would distinguish one of these thugs from the others.’

‘You mean apart from their height?’

‘That’s right. The earlier group told me about that. Anything, though, no matter how small.’

‘One of the medium-height ones had on a pair of Doc Marten boots, and they were red, which I thought was very odd, and he seemed to have very big feet for his size,’ declared Brenda.

When Lady A had confirmed the other points about appearance, Petra Smudge suddenly said, ‘One of them came right up close to me. Even with his ski mask, I could see his eyes, and he had one blue eye and one brown eye. That’s quite unusual.’

‘That could be very helpful with our enquiries. Thank you very much, Mrs Smog.’

‘Smudge,’ Perce corrected her automatically.

Lady Amanda bowed her head in apology, and wondered why she simply could not keep track of these names this afternoon. That was twice she’d boobed over one surname. A quick glance at her wrist watch provided the answer. These investigative sessions had so over-run, that it was a quarter past cocktail time already, and, with anticipatory delight, she heard the welcome tinkle of ice cubes as Beauchamp prepared to leave them something ready-made, as he was taking these two couples home.

When Enid had, once again, cleared away the tea things, and Beauchamp was about his errand, Lady Amanda and Hugo went through to the library where Beauchamp had, indeed, left two cocktails each, ready and waiting for them. They sat down on an old ox-blood chesterfield, each with a glass in their hand, and made a general toast to life, and its continued continuity, then Lady A began to put all their clues together.

‘We don’t have much, but we do have some distinctive points,’ she stated to Hugo. ‘I think we have a good reason to talk to the police, especially if I can get Beauchamp to go round tomorrow and take photographs of any damage that still survives – maybe even take a blood sample or two from the front of that damaged car, if they haven’t already washed it. He has access to all sorts of records that we don’t, and something about the descriptions we have might spark off a memory or two?’

‘With whom?’

‘Our man, Glenister, of course. You surely don’t think I’d approach miserably Moody with this, do you? No; Glenister’s the man for us. I think. With what we know, it must be obvious to anyone that this wasn’t the first lot of mischief these lads got up to, but they’re much bigger than they were, and inspire real fear in people. I think we should put a notice on the gates of Belchester Towers saying that all trick-or-treaters are welcome here.’

‘But that would be asking for trouble, Manda,’ countered Hugo.

‘Not if I set another plan in operation. I shall have to have a word with Beauchamp when he gets back from his taxi run.’

When the butler did return, he and Lady Amanda closeted themselves in the music room, leaving Hugo to doze in the library while Enid slaved over a hot stove to get dinner ready on time.

When she had outlined her plan to him, he nodded his head in agreement, and smiled a very shark-like smile. ‘That should sort them out m’lady. I’ll go round to collect any photographic evidence tomorrow morning while you summon DC Glenister here for the afternoon, so that we can pick his brains.

‘After his visit, I shall go up into the attic and see if I can find what you’ve requested and get it fixed up. It shouldn’t take too long if I get Enid and a couple of grounds’ staff to help. We can put the notice on the gate when Glenister leaves, stating that Hallowe’en visitors will be welcome between the hours of six thirty and nine. That should give the blighters a big enough window in which to plan their assault on this household.

‘I shall also make a trip today to the supermarket to pick up lots of sweeties and lollipops for the real trick-or-treaters. Don’t forget what else is up in the loft. We could dress the part, all four of us if I get lucky and find the trunk with the old costumes in them.’

‘Genius man! What fun we shall have! I can’t wait to tell Hugo.’

V

Lady Amanda, having supervised what Beauchamp had uncovered from the attics, had a mission of her own, and cycled off on her tricycle to a mini-market that was situated halfway between Belchester Towers and the city centre. The Indian gentleman who ran it was very on-the-ball, and he had created an extensive section of Hallowe’en disguises. Having purchased two sets of vampire fangs, two warty witches’ noses, and some green, veined hands with very long rubber fingernails, she felt she was ready to go back and ring DC Glenister.

On her way back, she did see a bunch of youngsters sauntering around aimlessly, and felt she had the beasts in view, but decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and merely pedalled past them with her head in the air, which was unfortunate, as it made her collide with one of her own gateposts, nearly propelling her into unexpected flight. Apart from her dignity being slightly dented, however, there was no damage done, if you didn’t count a buckled front wheel, and Beauchamp could easily sort that out, no questions asked – or at least, none she was willing to answer.

Once back on home ground, she made her call to the police station. DC Glenister was very surprised to get a call from her as he had not heard of any suspicious deaths recently, and drove out there straight away to see what sort of bee had got into the old busybody’s bonnet.

He listened, quite spellbound, to her tale of youths demanding money with menaces, in the guise of trick-or-treaters, and pointed out that it was more of a threat than a trick that they offered.

‘It has been reported to the police station by more than one victim but nobody has taken it seriously. None of the households that I told you about look as if they could afford to lose any of their income to blackmailers, and they even went to the Old Convent and got fifty pounds out of Stinky and Donkey, some very old friends of ours,’ she informed the young officer.

‘Lieutenant-Colonel Aloysius Featherstonehaugh-Armitage and his wife Angelica,’ translated Hugo, for Glenister’s benefit.

‘What extraordinary names your friends seem to have,’ replied Adrian Glenister, once more captivated by the energy and enthusiasm of this elderly lady. He simply could not understand why DI Moody seemed to be permanently at odds with her. ‘I find the surnames of victims you have given me very interesting – very interesting indeed,’ but he would say no more on the matter for now.

‘I wondered if you could go back to the station and rustle up a couple of uniformed men, and hide them in the garden, but close enough to the porch so that they were ready to pounce. I have, as usual, a cunning plan to apprehend these young criminals.’

‘I couldn’t keep them here for hours,’ he replied. ‘It would be noticed.’

‘Oh, we don’t expect them to come until just before nine o’clock, when all the kiddies will have come and gone. We shall be ready, the trap in place. All we need is for someone to round them up and take them down to the station for charging.’

‘What trap? I hope no one is going to get hurt.’ Glenister was suddenly concerned.

‘Don’t be silly. You know me better than that. They will just be gently restrained and ready to be hand-cuffed.’

‘Do you promise?’

‘On my mother’s life,’ Lady A replied, and Hugo giggled, his reaction being quickly quelled by a baleful stare from his co-conspirator, having had everything explained to him when Lady Amanda had hidden the damaged tricycle in the stables, and issued him with his dressing-up costume.

‘Where on earth did you get these?’ he asked, in wonder.

‘My parents used to have some very good parties in the old days,’ she explained.

VI

Enid was very upset at being asked to wear a long, warty false nose and green rubber hands as part of her costume, but when she saw the other three, she dissolved into giggles and just accepted that Lady A’s way was the only way in these matters. Her only other problem was her pointed hat which was a fraction too large, and kept slipping down over her eyes, and getting caught up on her false nose.

The sign on the gate had been noticed by quite a few of the local residents as they drove home from work and they had visits from a fair number of parties of young children sensibly chaperoned by a parent or two. The children found the fact that a pair witches and two vampires opened the doors to them hilarious, and everyone, even Lady A, grudgingly, had a great deal of fun.

At nine o’clock exactly, DC Glenister and his men crept up on the softer ground between the rhododendrons and the gravelled drive. Using the light from the open porch to gauge where he should situate his men, he chose two shrubs on the front lawn for them to conceal themselves behind, having checked first that they could still hear what was being said at the door.

He found a tree that would allow him not to have to crouch, and took up his position, as Beauchamp extinguished the porch light. Let them approach in darkness. It was more atmospheric, and they would be the more surprised for what was awaiting them.

About ten minutes later, there was the sound of several feet crunching on the gravel, and the outside representatives of law and order were aware that their quarry approached. What would happen next they had no idea, but they waited in anticipation.

There was some starlight, but the moon was behind a cloud. What little light there was allowed those hidden just to peek out of their hiding places and observe five figures huddled together in front of the massive front door. The tallest of them knocked hard on the door, and they all stood back so that when their summons was answered they would be revealed in all their disguised, intimidating glory.

The porch light went on first, bathing them in a light that only enhanced their ghastly masks. At length the door was opened wide, and they were confronted by two bent, ugly witches, one of whom was rather tubby, and two vampires, one whose cloak was a little too short, and the other, whose cloak was rather long and in danger of tripping him over.

‘Trick or treat,’ the huddled figures chanted in unison, and were surprised when the taller of the vampires said, ‘And what do you choose?’

Thinking that the tall geezer simply didn’t get it, the tallest of the youths shuffled slightly closer and said, menacingly, ‘No, mate, you choose, and take the consequences of your choice.’

‘Then, I think I’ll choose TRICK!’ Beauchamp shouted the last word, while at the same time pulling a rope that was suspended from the porch roof. At the same moment, Hugo made to move forward, and accidentally joined the youths on the top step, as a net fell down over them all, and Beauchamp reeled them in.

Although they were taken by surprise, one of them was inventive enough to yell, ‘You can’t do anything, you lot, ’cause we’ve got your mate, and we could give him a right seeing to inside this net, and there’s nothing you could do to stop us.’

There was a sudden howl from inside the snare of the net, followed by another, and a couple of the youths physically jumped. Hugo triumphantly held up his false teeth as a sign that he had bitten back at his captors, only to have Lady A cheer him on with, ‘Bite ’em again, Hugo.’

Beauchamp tightened the rope through the edges of the net, and their attention was attracted by what seemed to be a disembodied head floating through the darkness towards them. It looked angry, not in the least human, but finally revealed itself as DI Moody holding a lit torch under his chin.

Almost simultaneously, Glenister and his two uniformed officers burst from their hiding places, the DC shouting, ‘We’ve got you surrounded. Leave the old man alone and you’ll be treated fairly.’

Moody switched off his torch and advanced until he was staring into the net. A bit of eavesdropping goes a long way,’ he directed at Glenister, then turned to the miscreants, now hopelessly entangled. ‘I know you, Tommy. You’re the Chief Constable’s son. And you, Luke, my own nephew! And I bet I’ll know the other three of you once I get a look at your faces under your masks, but you haven’t spoken yet, so I’ll hold my fire.

‘Someone’s been illegally accessing police records to see who’s got a family secret about a relative with a record. And one of you at least has left behind DNA evidence on the front of a car. You’re now mine, boys, all mine.’

With a look of suppressed fury on his face, he turned towards Lady Amanda and said, ‘Thank you very much for sorting out this little local difficulty. I think my men can take it from here.’

How did she always know what was going on? he thought. How did she always know when something was important and in need of investigation? And, worst of all, how was he going to explain this one, not only to the Chief Constable, but also to his sister? There were going to repercussions to this little venture and, although none of it was his fault, he just knew he’d get caught in the crossfire.

Why hadn’t he listened when those people made their complaints? He’d just thought it was youthful high spirits, and a few miserable old people taking things out of all proportion. What a way for him to learn the error of his ways. And why was Glenister here? Bum! There could be trouble ahead, and it was all that awful old woman’s fault. Why couldn’t someone knock her over the head so that he could be left in peace?

‘Get me out of here,’ pleaded Hugo’s voice. ‘I’m suffocating in adolescent aftershave.’

VII

The policemen managed to summon up sufficient handcuffs to secure their little band of would-be criminals, and DI Moody radioed for a police van to transport his catches to the station for formal charging. Hugo was rescued from his fishing-net prison and ushered inside along with DC Glenister. How lucky for them – if not for Hugo – that Lady Amanda’s father had been rather keen on sea-fishing.

Sitting in front of a blazing log fire, Hugo began to recover from his ordeal and overdose of testosterone, with which he was not very familiar, and Beauchamp entered the drawing room carrying a welcome tray of cocktails. ‘I’ve mixed the ones you mentioned, m’lady, and I hope you find them to your satisfaction,’ he intoned.

‘I’ve ordered us all a Zombie,’ announced Lady A, taking a glass eagerly. ‘Well, young man,’ she addressed Glenister, ‘what do you think will happen to those miscreants? I hope they lock them up for a long time so that they truly learn their lesson that crime doesn’t pay.’

‘The one that was related to the chief constable said they’d already netted two hundred quid, and that it had been a good wheeze,’ he replied dispiritedly.

‘But they will go to prison, won’t they?’ Lady Amanda stressed.

‘Knowing today’s justice system, they’ll probably get a rap over the knuckles and a skiing holiday to soothe their frayed nerves after having to go through the ordeal of being arrested.’

‘That won’t do at all.’ Lady A was at her most militant. ‘I’ll have a word with old Batty Bannister the magistrate; put him right on a few things. Then, I think we can rest in the knowledge that they won’t get off so lightly after all. Justice will be done, and I have an acquaintance on the local paper who can guarantee that it will also be seen to be done. Cheers, everybody!’ They raised their glasses in salute to this more than satisfactory outcome, and Lady A smiled a shark-like smile at what was sure to come.

The doorbell rang, momentarily breaking this self-congratulatory mood, shortly followed by Beauchamp ushering in the Rev. Goodfellow.

‘Vicar!’ trilled his hostess, ‘how timely that you should call by. I have some good news to impart. Get the vicar a cocktail, there’s a good man, Beauchamp.’

Leaving the vicar looking bewildered as he took his glass she raised hers again and repeated ‘Cheers, everybody!’

‘Good Grief!’ exclaimed Glenister, staring out of the glass from which he had just taken a mighty swallow.

‘Lord above!’ said Hugo in astonishment.

‘May He be praised!’ grinned Rev. Goodfellow in appreciation.

‘And you wait till you try walking after one of these,’ said Lady Amanda, applying herself to her stunning, literally, cocktail, and she knew – she’d ridden her tricycle after consuming one.

THE END … except for …

THE COCKTAIL RECIPES

ZOMBIE
½ a measure of white rum
1 measure of golden rum
½ a measure of dark rum
½ a measure of apricot brandy
½ a measure of cherry brandy
2 measures of pineapple juice
1 measure of orange juice
¾ of a measure of lime juice
½ a measure of papaya juice
¼ of a measure of almond syrup
½ a measure of over-proof dark rum
Good luck!

HAIRY NAVEL
2 measures of peach schnapps
1 measure of vodka
4 measures of orange juice
Serve over ice

CUTE FAT BASTARD IN THE SACK
2 measures of full-bodied red wine
1 measure of dry sherry
2 measures of white grape juice
½ measure of sugar syrup
2 measures of lemonade
Serve over ice

The Belchester Chronicles
by
Andrea Frazer

For more information about Andrea Frazer
and other Accent Press titles
please visit

www.accentpress.co.uk

Trick or Threat

ISBN: 9781783752201

Copyright © 2014 by Andrea Frazer

This edition published by Accent Press 2014

The right of Andrea Frazer to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN

These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.